


Adventures in Demon Summoning

by FriendofCarlotta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, CW For Extreme Sarcasm, First Time, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Dean Winchester, Seriously Folks Do Not Summon Demons Even If It Works Out OK In This Fic, Soft Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta
Summary: When Dean's friends get high and decide to summon a demon, it seems like a monumentally bad idea. Of course, even Dean couldn't have guessed that the whole thing would land him with a grumpy, sarcastic angel who seems dead-set on following him around.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 55
Kudos: 288





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome!
> 
> This fic is based on a short story I wrote a few weeks ago, ["Thunderstorm."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028069/chapters/58135765) I had a lot of fun with it, and it seemed like there was a lot more story to tell, so here we are.
> 
> If you've already read "Thunderstorm," the first chapter of this is going to look awfully familiar, except for the last couple of paragraphs. After that, we're off into new territory though.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s after dark barely a week before Halloween, there’s a howling thunderstorm outside, and the smell of weed is thick in the air. Really, Dean figures, it was only a matter of time until someone floated the idea.

“Guys, we should totally summon a demon!”

A particularly loud roll of thunder follows right on the heels of Garth’s suggestion, like they’ve all somehow gone to sleep and woken up in a horror-movie cliché.

Dean gets up from his desk with a sigh and shuffles to the door of his room. With a pointed glare at Garth, Benny and Vic, who are squatting on the floor of the common room, he closes the door, trying to get back to studying.

Most of the time, he doesn’t mind living on campus, especially since he became a junior and got to move to a suite where he has his own space. As opposed to last year, when he was always digging through Benny’s smelly laundry to find his textbooks.

He also doesn’t mind his suite mates, generally speaking. But it’s times like these when he really feels the five years he has on everybody else here. At 25, he should have graduated long ago, but he didn’t even get his GED until he was 21, and money’s always been tight back home, so here he is. 

Highlighter poised, Dean tries to get back to the chapter he’s been trying to read for the past hour. When something suspiciously like chanting starts up from the next room, he walks over to his vintage tape player and puts on some Zepp, trying to drown out the noise.

He sort of remembers Garth mentioning that his family is part of some splintery religious sect, and they have all kinds of weird books that Garth sometimes swipes and brings to school. Whatever the hell the guys are doing right now probably has something to do with that.

Dean thought the thunderstorm was moving away, but apparently he was wrong, because the next roll of thunder feels like it might split his eardrums.

A second later, he could swear he sees lightning flash through the gap under his door. In the next room, but not outside his window. That can’t be right. Anyway, thunder is supposed to come _after_ lightning.

The bulb in Dean’s desk lamp chooses that moment to shatter, scattering broken glass all over his laptop.

“Shit!” Dean looks down to find a small, but particularly jagged piece of glass embedded in his left hand.

With a hiss, he pulls out the shard, then immediately regrets it when a sluggish but steady drip of blood starts to hit the floor. Just great.

He grabs a towel from his closet, noticing all of a sudden that the rest of the suite is suspiciously quiet. No giggles. Not even any chanting.

With a vague sense of foreboding, he steps out of his room. There’s an actual pentagram or something drawn on the floor of the common room, each corner marked by a lit candle.

At the center of the pentagram stands what Dean can only assume is the world’s least intimidating demon.

Basically, he just looks like a guy. An attractive guy, sure, in his early or mid-30s maybe, with just the right amount of stubble, a sharply cut jaw and messy dark hair. But not a particularly scary one. His wrinkly blue suit and boxy trench coat make him look, mostly, like a down-on-his-luck accountant.

“Um,” Dean says, eloquently. The guy pivots to face him and wow, those are some seriously blue eyes.

“I was looking for my friends,” is the next thing that comes out of Dean’s mouth.

“I sent them away,” the guy says, and his voice is deep enough that maybe it’s not such a stretch to think he’s a demon after all? “I was annoyed with them.”

“You were…” Dean tries to pick one of the roughly two dozen questions swirling through his head. “Why were you annoyed with them?”

“They summoned me,” the maybe-a-demon says. “I was on a very important mission and did not appreciate being forced to come here instead.”

“So, uh.” Think, Winchester. Where would a rational conversation go next? “So, where are they now?”

Demon guy points vaguely off to his right. “Don’t worry. They’re fine. I only sent them about five miles away, to a Dunkin Donuts.”

“A Dunkin Donuts.” That seems weirdly specific.

The guy shrugs, shoulders taking that ridiculous coat along for the ride. “I like their coffee.”

Another part of Dean’s brain decides to come back online, and he finally thinks to ask the question that’s really at the heart of the matter here. “Mind telling me who you are?”

A gust of wind lifts the guy’s hair and billows his trench coat, lightning crackling and swirling around him.

“I am the storm,” he announces, voice echoing with ancient power and, OK, maybe he’s a little intimidating after all.

The light bulb above Dean’s head shatters, scattering broken glass all over the floor.

“Dude, you have got to stop doing that!”

“Sorry,” the guy says, and weirdly enough, he actually looks it. “I’ve been told I can be a bit dramatic.”

With a flick of his wrist, the broken glass disappears.

“To answer your question properly,” he says, “my name is Castiel. I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Dean looks the guy up and down, and if his eyes linger in a couple of strategic places, well, nobody needs to know. “Shouldn’t an angel be, I don’t know, taller?”

Castiel squints at him, looking annoyed. “This is a vessel. My true form is roughly the size of your Chrysler building. And might I point out that you’re being extremely rude?”

“ _I’m_ being rude?”

“Yes.” Castiel strides out of the pentagram like it’s nothing and flops onto the couch, arms crossed like some kind of pouty teenager. “I believe it’s customary that when someone introduces himself, you should offer your name in return.”

“OK.” Dean slumps against his doorframe. This conversation is really taking it out of him for some reason. “Let’s pretend for a moment that you haven’t trashed my home and abducted my friends. I’m Dean.”

He feels a weird compulsion to walk over to the couch and shake Castiel’s hand, but then remembers that one of his hands is still bleeding onto the carpet.

Castiel frowns at him. “You’re injured. I can fix that.”

Before Dean can so much as bat an eyelash, Castiel has zapped across the room and is putting two fingers on Dean’s hand. A pleasant warmth tingles briefly at the point where they’re touching, and just like that, the cut is gone.

Dean’s eyes widen as he looks up at Castiel. “You’re an angel.”

Castiel frowns, head tilted in confusion. “I thought we’d established that.”

“You know what?” Dean shakes his head, trying to clear it. “Sit.” He flails a hand at the couch. “I need a drink.”

He walks back into his room and automatically fills two tumblers with several fingers of whiskey. Castiel has slumped back down on the saggy two-seater, and it suddenly occurs to Dean that he might have missed a step. “Um. Do angels drink? Booze, I mean? Or, I guess, anything, generally?”

Castiel shrugs and takes the tumbler from Dean’s hand. “We don’t have to, but it’s not actively discouraged.”

Interested now, Dean asks, “Can you get drunk?”

As Dean lowers himself onto the couch cushion next to Castiel’s, he watches the angel down his shot of whiskey in a single gulp. “Yes, but it would take a lot more than this.”

Dean takes a sip from his drink and a minute to think. It’s not often you get a chance to question a genuine angel. “I thought drinking was a sin or something.”

Castiel shrugs. “Not in and of itself. Excessive indulgence in spirits is a different matter, of course.”

Dean shifts himself on the couch, drawing up one of his legs so he can face Castiel. “What about other stuff? Can you lie?”

“It’s frowned upon,” Castiel says. “Which is why I should probably tell you that I lied to you earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. Instead of elaborating, he starts waving his empty glass at Dean.

“Can’t you just mojo it full of whiskey again?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s an important angel secret.”

Dean glares at Castiel. “Is that another lie?”

“Maybe,” Castiel says, but he once again gestures emphatically between Dean and Dean's room and the empty glass.

With a sigh, Dean levers himself off the couch and fetches them both another drink.

When he sits back down, he finds that Castiel has mirrored his position from earlier, so that they’re looking straight at each other now. That blue-eyed stare is pretty disconcerting head-on.

To distract himself, Dean asks, “So are you gonna tell me what you lied about earlier?”

Castiel pretends to be very focused on the contents of his glass when he says, “I said I was on an important mission when your friends summoned me. The truth is, I had nothing to do and I was bored. That’s why I came.”

“Huh.”

They’re both quiet for a while, taking sips of their drinks.

“So,” Dean says, once he’s fetched them both another round, “you can drink booze and you can lie. Any other human stuff you can do?”

Castiel sets down his glass on the nearby coffee table and takes hold of one of the fingers on his left hand, counting off. “We can eat, but I don’t like to because I can’t really taste the food anyway. We can have sex when we’re in a vessel, though I’ve personally never tried it. Oh, and we can swear, but not on Sundays.”

Dean almost chokes on his drink. “Wait, what? Hold your horses. You can have sex, but you’ve never done it? Ever?”

“Never,” Castiel agrees solemnly.

Dean doesn’t want to hurt Castiel’s feelings, if those are a thing he has, but he has to know. “Dude, how old are you?”

“About three minutes older than the Earth itself,” Castiel replies, taking another sip of his whiskey and swishing it around his mouth experimentally.

“Have you…” Dean takes another sip for courage. “Have you ever wanted to? Have sex?”

“Sometimes,” Castiel shrugs. “There is the question of the vessel’s consent. Of course, poor Jimmy here…” He points vaguely at his own chest. “… has already departed this life.”

Dean _does_ choke on his drink that time. “You’re wearing a dead guy?”

“It’s preferable to a living vessel, in some ways,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “I don’t know this first-hand, of course, but I don’t believe angelic possession would be a pleasant experience, exactly.”

Dean is still stuck on the dead-guy thing, so he’s quiet for a minute, trying to consider whether it’s a deal breaker for the plan that’s sort of, maybe, been kicking around his head for the past 10 minutes. Overall, he doesn’t think so, but he does wonder what that says about him.

After a brief silence, he goes to fetch them both another couple of drinks. “What about sex with guys?” he asks when he sits down again. “Are you allowed to do that?”

Castiel shrugs. “I am indifferent to gender and sexual orientation.”

“Good.” Dean nods slowly. “That’s good.”

That blue X-ray stare is even more focused on him than before, looking him up and down. “Are you offering yourself as a sexual partner?”

Dean almost drops his tumbler. “Holy shit, Cas. Um, I mean, sorry. Holy crap. Is that better?”

Castiel just keeps staring at him, squinty-eyed, waiting him out.

Feeling a blush creep up his face at the scrutiny, Dean stares determinedly at the Grateful Dead concert poster that’s hanging on the opposite wall. When it provides no answers to life’s questions, he allows, “Yeah. Sure. Maybe. If that… I mean, if that’s a thing you’d be interested in.”

He chances a glance back at Castiel, who is still squinting, but looking more curious than confused now. Finally, Castiel nods.

“I think it’s a good idea. Your friends will be gone for another hour and 30 minutes, by my estimate. That should be enough time.”

Dean watches as Castiel rises off the couch and strides toward Dean’s room like he’s going into battle.

Really, Dean’s not entirely sure he’s thought this through.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut, followed by naked shenanigans. 
> 
> You heard me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a day early because tomorrow is going to be a busy, not-so-fun day for me. But hey, early update! So who's complaining, right? :)

Dean _definitely_ hasn’t thought this through.

That fact becomes painfully clear when he walks into his room and finds Castiel standing right in the middle, trench coat and all, bouncing awkwardly on the balls of his feet.

Dean closes his door with a slightly louder-than-intended thud.

He shouldn’t be this nervous. He really shouldn’t. He hasn’t been a virgin in 10 years, and he’s been with guys before.

Though, now he comes to think of it, sex with guy-shaped non-humans is definitely a new thing. 

Castiel looks him up and down, expectant. “Well, as you know, I have no experience with this. So you should probably take the initiative.”

“Um. Can I ask you something first?”

Castiel cocks an inquisitive eyebrow. “Of course.”

“You, um. You said you’re in a human vessel. So this will be like regular human sex, right?” In response to Castiel’s frown, he quickly adds, “I mean, I know it's your first time and all, but I guess what I’m trying to say is, do you have any… parts?”

Castiel’s head tilts at a truly alarming angle, with a side of confused frown. “Parts?”

Dean’s head is probably on fire. Or if it’s not, he wishes it was, so he could get out of this conversation. “Non-human parts, I mean.”

“Oh. I see.” Castiel walks toward Dean, stopping about two feet away. Which is just a little too close and not close enough all at the same time. “As I said, we can only have sex when we’re in a vessel. Our true forms are more… wavelengths than physical bodies. So yes, I assume the experience will be much the same as it would be with a human.”

Dean tries and fails to hide his relieved exhale at that information. “Well, that’s good. That definitely helps.”

The whole awkwardness of the situation has thoroughly killed Dean’s buzz from earlier, and some of the arousal along with it. But now, standing so close to Castiel and feeling the quiet thrum of power coming off him… well, Dean is definitely on board with this again.

Especially when he takes another moment to appreciate Castiel’s messy hair and sharp, stubbly jaw.

“I do understand the basics of what we are supposed to do. But how do we start?” Castiel asks, and Dean watches as the angel's eyes roam over his face, interest sparking behind his blue irises.

“Kissing,” Dean croaks, and licks his lips, because the mere mention of a kiss has them feeling unnaturally dry.

“Show me,” Castiel says simply, so Dean takes a step forward and raises his hand to Castiel’s jaw, trailing his fingers softly over almost unnaturally warm skin.

He leans forward and carefully, gently, touches his lips to Castiel’s. The contact is barely there, but Dean’s breath hitches a little as he pulls back.

Castiel chases after him, joining their lips again. This time, the pressure is insistent, demanding, and Dean’s lips are tingling with something almost like static shock, but… pleasant, somehow.

The strange, electric sensation builds between them as Dean steps fully against Castiel’s front, licking against the seam of his lips.

Castiel pulls back, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“Um… I’m trying to put my tongue in your mouth.”

“Oh.” Castiel thinks this over, then shrugs. “Fine.”

Dean moves in again, but instead of picking up where they left off, Castiel is the one licking at Dean’s lips this time. Dean opens up, meeting the slide of Castiel’s tongue. It’s clumsy, unpracticed, but it doesn’t seem to matter when every point of contact leaves Dean’s nerve-endings buzzing.

As the kiss lingers and grows more urgent, Dean feels warmth traveling from his gut all the way out to his fingertips. His dick is filling up in his jeans, pushing against his zipper.

Dean’s so caught up in the moment, he almost forgets that he should probably catch his breath every once in a while. When he pulls back to do just that, Castiel makes a grumpy noise and pulls him right back in.

“Dude, don’t you need to breathe?” Dean asks, taking hold of Castiel’s face to keep him in place. Castiel allows it to happen, but glares disapprovingly.

“No.”

“Oh. Right.”

And with that, Castiel leans forward again, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and nudging their noses together.

“How about we lose the clothes?” Dean whispers into the space between them.

“Do we have to stop the kissing while we do that?” Castiel grumbles as he trails his tongue down the side of Dean’s jaw. “Because I’m enjoying the kissing.”

Dean’s going to deny to his dying day that he ever giggles, but yeah, he might be doing that right now.

“I mean, that would definitely make things easier. And taking off our clothes is kind of essential for the actual sex part.”

Castiel hums in acknowledgement. “Can I at least look at you while you undress?”

Dean nods, then steps back a couple of feet and takes his time pushing his t-shirt up his chest. Maybe he even trails his fingers over his stomach a little, teasing.

Castiel looks completely frozen for a moment, lips slightly parted. Then he mirrors Dean, shrugging out of his trench coat and suit jacket and pulling at his tie.

Frowning in concentration, Castiel gets to work on the buttons of his dress shirt. When they refuse to open after several tries, he lets out a frustrated growl that sends shivers all the way down Dean’s spine and straight to his dick, which is now straining almost painfully against the front of his jeans.

Dean takes a moment to adjust himself and walks over to Castiel, a grin edging onto his face. “You’re not very good at this.”

Castiel huffs, and there’s a tiny, answering quirk to his lips; almost in the neighborhood of a smile. “I don’t have occasion to take off my clothes a lot.”

He meets Dean’s eye, looking curious. “Are you going to help me?”

“That’s the plan.” Dean closes the rest of the distance between them. While he unbuttons Castiel’s shirt with slow, sure fingers, he presses his front against Castiel’s hip, making his arousal known.

Dean knows the exact moment Castiel notices, because he freezes and goes, “Oh.”

“Is this OK?” Dean murmurs into the spot under Castiel’s ear, kissing at it as he undoes the last few buttons and moves on to Castiel’s belt.

Castiel nods, taking hold of Dean’s hand and pressing it against the front of his slacks, where Dean can feel an impressively sized, rock-hard bulge straining to meet him.

Dean cups Castiel and gives a gentle squeeze, drawing a ragged moan.

“How’d I get so lucky?” Dean mumbles as he kisses his way down the side of Castiel’s throat.

“You have very stupid friends,” Castiel rumbles, stepping out of his pants and boxer briefs and pushing against Dean.

“Why are you still wearing pants?” Castiel whines, impatient fingers tugging at Dean’s waistband.

“No idea. Let’s fix it.” Dean undoes his belt and fly and pushes his jeans down, movements stuttering when he catches sight of Castiel.

He’s absolutely stunning. Lightly tanned skin is pulled taut over wiry muscle. He looks the kind of solid and strong Dean is especially attracted to, for reasons he doesn’t like to think about too much. Castiel’s cock is thick and just begging to be touched.

Before Dean can figure out where to put his hands first, Castiel is back, arms wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him into a hungry kiss. Their cocks brush together in the space between, pulling moans from both of them.

“What do we do now?” Castiel asks, sounding breathless despite his earlier insistence that he doesn’t actually need to breathe.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, Cas,” Dean tells him, holding eye contact as he walks them slowly toward his bed.

When they get there, Dean takes hold of Castiel’s hands and guides him gently onto the mattress. He follows after, straddling Castiel’s hips.

There is naked hunger on Castiel’s face when he runs inquisitive fingers up and down Dean’s sides. “Anything. Everything.”

Dean nods, biting his lip. His cock feels heavy between his legs, gravity pulling it toward Castiel.

Dean leans forward to grab the bottle of lube from his bedside table, the motion trapping Castiel’s dick between their stomachs. The angel’s mouth falls open, eyes closing, and Dean grinds down.

“Dean!” Castiel’s shout is surprise and delight, all rolled into one.

“Think this feels good?” Dean grins, letting himself feel the way his dick is twitching in anticipation of things to come. “I’m gonna make you feel so much better before this is over.”

Castiel groans, pushing his hips up impatiently. “Do it, then. Less talking, more doing.” To emphasize his point, Castiel reaches behind Dean and takes hold of both ass cheeks, squeezing hard.

“Oh, God.” Dean’s having trouble catching his breath again, for entirely different reasons this time. He pops the cap on the lube and coats his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the liquid.

“Dean,” Castiel says again, voice impossibly deeper than before. “Touch me.”

“Yeah, OK.” Vibrating with arousal, Dean wraps his slicked-up hand around Castiel’s length and pumps him slowly, firmly.

Castiel’s drawn-out moan is a thing of beauty. His cheeks are flushed, blue irises almost hidden behind heavy lids. “Dean, can… _oh…_ can I touch you as well?”

Dean nods frantically, and Castiel reaches down to where Dean’s cock is leaking onto the angel’s thigh.

The first touch of Castiel’s hand is dry, but warm and tingly, tinged with that strange, electric sensation. “You need,” Dean pants, “use the…”

Realizing that coherence is way out of reach right now, Dean sits back, letting go of Castiel’s erection for a moment and ignoring the petulant whine he gets in response.

Castiel pipes down quickly when Dean takes hold of his hand, guiding his thumb to gather the pre-come from Dean’s slit and use it to slick his way.

Eyes blazing with want, Castiel sets to jerking Dean with fast, determined strokes. Dean grabs hold of Castiel again, and their gasps and moans mingle in the air between them.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs. “You’re very beautiful.”

It’s all too much. Castiel’s hand, still stroking him fast and hard, his voice, deep and smooth, and the compliment combine to stoke the fire in Dean’s groin until he comes with a shout.

“Dean,” Castiel says again, voice ragged and needy.

“You’re OK, Cas,” Dean whispers, waiting for the buzzing in his head to subside. When it does, he curls his fingers around Castiel again, picking up the pace of his strokes. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

Castiel’s lids flutter and, with a drawn-out moan, he joins his release with Dean’s.

They both slump back against the mattress, Dean feeling utterly boneless.

He turns his head to look at Castiel, who has his eyes closed and a small, blissful smile on his face. Dean wonders if he’s allowed to kiss that smile.

Because now that the touch-required portion of the evening is over, Dean’s feeling a little awkward about what exactly is supposed to happen next. He’s hooked up with near-strangers before, but this particular game seems to come without any rulebook he’s ever heard of.

Castiel pokes at his sticky stomach, frowning. “It seems unfortunate that something so wonderful should result in such a disgusting mess.”

Dean chuckles. “Welcome to sex.”

Castiel hums thoughtfully, and they just lie quietly next to each other for a while. Dean’s bed isn’t exactly spacious, so their shoulders and legs are still pressed up against each other. Dean crosses his arms behind his head, very determinedly _not_ cuddling. Just in case.

In case of what, he doesn’t know.

“Are we boyfriends now?” Castiel asks into the silence.

Dean didn’t even realize he had enough saliva in his mouth right now to choke on it, but apparently he does. He sits up to get through the coughing fit. When he finally gets his breath back, he looks over his shoulder to see Castiel stare at him in open puzzlement.

“I gather from your reaction that I wasn’t supposed to ask that.”

“It’s just…” Dean waves his hand vaguely, trying to wrap his head around explaining unspoken human rules to a non-human. “You don’t just come out and ask someone that, without leading up to it.”

Castiel’s eyebrows travel halfway to his hairline. “You’re saying I should have talked about other, irrelevant subjects first before getting to the actual point I wanted to make?”

Dean shrugs. Put like that, it does sound a little ridiculous. “I guess so. It’s just a thing humans do.” He takes a moment to think. “It’s a way to protect yourself, I guess. Find little ways to see if the other person is really interested in you that way, before you put yourself out there.”

Castiel nods, then pokes Dean in the ribs for no apparent reason. “Like a mating dance.”

“Sure,” Dean says, trying and failing not to squirm.

“Well, it’s a little late for that now, since I have already ‘put myself out there,’ as you say.”

Dean takes a moment to wonder where on God’s green earth a goddamn angel would have picked up a dorky mannerism like finger quotes.

“So,” Castiel continues, “we’ll just have to operate on the assumption that-”

The suite’s front door chooses that moment to open.

Dean puts a finger to Castiel’s lips, cutting him off.

Benny’s low bark is, as always, the loudest thing around. “Well, fuck this whole day. Let’s summon a demon, he said. It’ll be fun, he said.”

“It _was_ fun,” Garth pipes up defensively. “I mean, who would’ve thought we’d somehow get zapped five miles away from home, to a donut shop? Wild, right?”

“I still want to know how the hell that actually happened.” That’s Vic.

“Wait a minute.” Vic again, coming closer.

Dean holds his breath, feeling nervous for some reason. He didn’t actually remember to lock his door, but he should be totally fine — his suite mates know not to just stroll in after dark without knocking.

When Vic speaks again, it sounds like he’s right in front of Dean’s door. “There’s blood on the floor, guys.”

“Blood?” When Garth is agitated, his voice is basically just a high-pitched squeak. But he’s nothing if not determined, and if he thinks Dean might be in trouble…

The door opens.

Well, fuck.

“Dean, are you-”

Garth’s face is frozen for a moment in total astonishment. Ever so slowly, Vic and Benny’s heads poke over each of his shoulders, only to recoil at the picture of two very much naked dudes on the bed.

Benny’s the only one of them who knew that Dean is bi, so this is one hell of a coming-out party on top of everything else.

Dean can’t seem to make his tongue move the right way to produce human speech, but Castiel is apparently totally at ease with the situation, because he rises off the bed with supreme nonchalance, still butt-naked.

He walks toward Garth, hand outstretched, and says, “My name is Castiel. I’m Dean’s boyfriend.”

Garth looks at Castiel for a moment, then at Dean, and back at the angel again. His face splits in a delighted grin, and he pulls this naked stranger into a bone-breaking hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Castiel,” Garth says warmly, thumping Castiel on the back while he side-eyes Dean. “Though I would have liked to think Dean would be comfortable telling us about someone so significant to him. We’re not ones to judge, right, fellas?”

He turns around to where, presumably, Vic and Benny are trying to cope with either abiding trauma or barely controlled laughter. Possibly both.

Because Garth is the most genuinely nice person who ever lived and can’t stand to hold a grudge, he grins at Dean as he grabs hold of the doorknob. “I’ve got to tell you, you would not _believe_ the night we’ve had. But that’s a story for later.”

He waves vaguely between Dean, who’s trying to melt into the bed, and Castiel, who's still standing there unfazed and naked as a newborn. “You two do what you got to do. We’ll just be right outside.”

With that, the door closes.

Dean’s still trying to make words, but his brain seems to have called it quits for the night.

Which is why he doesn’t say a thing when Castiel starts to pull his clothes back on and says, “Well, I do actually have something I need to take care of. But I should reassure you that I plan to be a more than adequate boyfriend. So you can expect me to be here tomorrow morning to accompany you to wherever you plan to go.”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes helplessly as Castiel gathers up his trench coat and walks back to the bed to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

With a crackle of lightning and a whoosh of air, he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think it’s far-fetched that someone would just hug a naked stranger, well, you clearly had a very different college experience than I did.
> 
> Anyhoo. How is Dean going to handle this new revelation that he's somehow acquired an angelic boyfriend? He's going to be all calm and rational about this and communicate his feelings super clearly, right? :) 
> 
> Either way, you'll find out on Sunday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to navigate this strange new reality where an angel follows him around and wants to KNOW things about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to be posting early again. Oops.
> 
> Enjoy!!

By the time Dean wakes up the next morning, he’s convinced himself that the whole thing was some kind of hallucination.

Maybe Garth’s weed was a little more potent than usual. Dean didn’t actually smoke any, but contact highs are a thing, right?

This completely airtight line of reasoning comes to a screeching halt when Dean steps out of his room to head to class, only to run straight into Castiel.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel says solemnly, bending forward to plant a chaste kiss on Dean’s cheek. “I hope you slept well.”

“What…” is all Dean gets out, and his hand travels up to his face of its own accord, touching the spot that had Castiel’s lips on it a second ago. Dean swallows, willing his higher cognitive functions to kick in. “What are you doing here?”

Castiel is all patience and benevolence, like he’s willing to put in the time to accommodate Dean’s dim-wittedness. “Do you remember our conversation from last night, Dean? I know human memory is fallible, but surely you recall me saying I would accompany you today.”

“Right,” Dean says slowly. “Because we’re…”

Castiel nods, pleased with Dean’s progress. “Boyfriends now, yes.”

Dean’s not entirely sure how he feels about this whole thing by the light of day. On the one hand, Castiel is somehow even more stunning now than he was last night, the bright morning sun casting the cleanly carved lines of his face into sharp relief.

On the other hand, well, this is all a bit much.

So Dean grabs his keys off the table by the door and walks out, slamming the door behind him and heading down the front steps. It’s a mild, sunny fall day, so at least Dean’s got that going for him.

Castiel catches up to him on the sidewalk outside, falling into step beside Dean and doing that confused head-tilt-and-squint thing he does sometimes.

Dean’s annoyed with himself for finding it cute, so he snaps, “Something wrong with your eyes?”

He regrets it instantly when the eyes in question widen and the corners of Castiel’s mouth turn down, making him look a lot more like a kicked puppy than an all-powerful celestial entity.

Dean stops and runs a hand over his face before turning to face Castiel fully. “Sorry. Look, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just meant, why do you squint so much?”

“Oh.” Castiel says, and thankfully, he looks more thoughtful than hurt now. “No, I don’t believe there’s anything wrong. If there was, I would be able to fix it instantly.”

“Right,” Dean nods, trying not to let his mind dwell too much on the idea of Castiel’s healing powers. He was conveniently forgetting about those because his brain can only process so much insanity at any given time.

Castiel shrugs. “I think it’s just a mannerism.”

“Angels have those?” Dean starts walking again, interest in the conversation winning out for now over his desire to just freak the fuck out.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, like he’s talking to a five-year-old. “We may not be human, but we _are_ individuals.”

Dean nods, and they stroll in silence toward the heart of campus, getting the occasional curious glance from passing students. They probably figure Castiel is a professor, and that he’s walking awfully close to Dean for an academic discussion.

“Dean, do you not want to be my boyfriend?”

For the second time that morning, Dean stops dead in his tracks, fast enough this time that Castiel, even with his presumably enhanced angel senses, barrels straight into him.

“What makes you think that?” Dean asks as he rubs the spot on his arm where he’s just collided with Castiel.

Castiel shuffles his feet, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d swear the angel was embarrassed.

“You didn’t seem pleased to see me this morning. Then, you walked away from me, and when I caught up, you got angry. My experience of human relationships may be limited, but I know this is not how happy lovers are supposed to behave around each other.”

Great. Now Dean feels like a dick, because he sort of forgot that Castiel isn’t being intentionally weird and infuriating. He’s just trying to work with what he’s got.

Which is why Dean’s careful to keep his voice gentle when he says, “It’s not that I don’t like you, Cas.” He puts his hand on Castiel’s arm, trying to be reassuring while also ignoring the pleasant tingling in his fingertips.

“It’s just… before you start a relationship with someone, you should probably get to know them a little better than we know each other right now.”

Castiel nods and keeps heading the way they were going, down the path that dead-ends at the main administration building. With quick strides, he rounds various groups of chattering students, that determined “about to go into battle” look on his face again.

“Very well. I know that your name is Dean and that you’re very beautiful. What else do you think I should know?”

“Um.” Dean has never felt less eloquent in his life than he does around Castiel, and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing furiously as he hurries to catch up. “Well, I have a brother, Sam. He’s four years younger, but he’s already finished college.”

“Why is that?”

Dean looks over at Castiel, scanning for any sign of derision, but he just looks interested.

“Well.” Dean shrugs, then takes a deep breath. He doesn’t usually talk to people about this; but people also don’t usually wait him out with the kind of single-minded attentiveness Castiel seems to be capable of. “I had to take care of Sam after our parents died, so it wasn’t a good time for me to go off to college. Then, Sam earned a full ride on tuition, but it didn’t cover all his expenses. So I started working at a family friend’s garage to help him out.”

“And now Sam has a job?” Castiel asks as they veer left at the administration building, heading to West Hall, where most of Dean’s classes are taught.

“Nah. He’s going to law school. But Bobby, our family friend, he agreed to help out with my tuition if I study business so I can take over his garage one day.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Castiel asks, and Dean almost trips over his own feet, because he’s not totally sure anyone’s ever asked him that question. He actually has to take a moment to think about the answer, and he’s pleased with what he finds at the other end of that thought.

“Yeah.” Dean grins, warm certainty filling him up. “Yeah. I love the garage. The people who work there are good friends, and if I can learn some skills that help things run more smoothly for everyone, that’s a good thing.”

“Good.”

Dean looks over to find that Castiel has an honest-to-goodness smile on his face. It makes the angel suddenly seem a lot more approachable. Which is a weird thing to think about someone whose come he wiped off his fingers a couple of hours ago.

When Dean eventually tears his eyes off Castiel’s face, he’s kind of surprised to find they’re already walking up to the front entrance of West Hall. “Well, um, this is me. Can’t exactly take you to class with me.”

Castiel nods solemnly. “I understand. Should I pick you up after?”

Apparently, this is a day for surprises, because Dean finds himself saying, “Sure. I’ll take you out for a fancy lunch at the dining hall.”

Then, realizing what he’s said, he feels his face heat up and looks down at his boots. “Except you don’t eat. Right.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t keep you company,” Castiel says warmly, and then he does that thing again where he leans forward and kisses Dean on the cheek, drawing whistles and cat calls from a group of students passing them.

Castiel spins to face them, and there’s an ever-so-slight crackle of lightning in the air. Dean’s a little worried that Castiel is actually going to start smiting people on a crowded sidewalk in the middle of the day, so he grabs hold of the angel’s hand and turns him back around.

“I’ll see you back here in an hour,” he says. Almost in spite of himself, before he lets go of Castiel’s hand, he gives it a little squeeze.

***

When Dean gets back outside almost exactly an hour later, sure enough, there’s Castiel, waiting for him.

“You’re already here,” Dean says, trying to look and sound casual and not like he’s wondering whether he’s going to be kissed hello. 

There’s the head-tilty squint again. "Why wouldn't I be here?" 

“I guess I figured you might have important angel business. Like, maybe you’d be a couple minutes late or something.”

“Oh.” Castiel nods, returning his neck to its upright position. “I’ve been waiting here for you this whole time.”

“You…” Dean can’t decide whether that’s sweet or creepy. There seems to be a fine line between those two concepts when it comes to Castiel.

He files that whole train of thought away for later. “C’mon. Let’s get lunch.”

The dining hall is busy when they get there, though not as crowded as it’s going to be in an hour. So it doesn’t take long for Dean to grab a tray, load it with a burger, fries and a couple of token vegetables that he isn’t going to eat but feels good about having on his plate, and wait for Castiel to follow him to one of the long tables.

They have the table to themselves, a relatively clean one near a window with a good view of the mature trees ringing the edge of campus. Dean watches in silent amusement as Castiel ambles slowly in his wake, taking in the groups of chattering students, the stacks of chip bags, the silent TVs set to a never-ending parade of baseball games.

“This seems nice,” Castiel observes as he awkwardly folds himself onto the bench seat next to Dean.

Castiel is sitting so close that their shoulders and thighs are practically touching. Dean briefly considers pointing out that it would be more polite to sit across from each other instead. In the end, he decides against it though, because he kind of likes being able to feel the low, reassuring hum of power that seems to emanate from Castiel at all times.

In fact, Dean’s feeling pretty good about things generally, until Castiel reaches over and steals one of his fries.

“Cas, what the hell?”

Castiel folds the soggy contraband into his mouth, apparently indifferent to Dean’s disapproval. “They looked good.”

“You told me you don’t even like to eat.”

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t, because I can’t really taste the food. But I keep trying, because you never know. I do like to drink coffee, so maybe there is another kind of food out there that I’m going to actually enjoy.”

“Is it this one?”

Castiel grimaces. “No. Definitely not this one.”

“Try this.” To his own surprise as much as anyone’s, Dean breaks a bite off his burger and hands it to Castiel. Castiel transfers it gingerly from Dean’s hand to his own and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Dean feels weirdly nervous about this, almost like it’s some kind of test. Which it might have been, because something very like relief jumps up his throat when Castiel hums with approval.

“Much better,” he says, and then they’re grinning at each other. Before Dean’s brain has a chance to catch up to his mouth, he’s offering to make burgers for Castiel some time soon.

“I _have_ heard it said,” Castiel rumbles thoughtfully, “that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. As you’re a man and I’m not, perhaps I should be making _you_ food.”

Castiel nudges his elbow into Dean’s side, grinning again. It’s not a very forceful nudge because they’re still sitting embarrassingly close together. Also, Dean’s blushing again, so he decides it’s time to steer the conversation back into safer waters.

“Dude, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? No one’s said that since at least the 1950s. Where’d you even pick that up?”

Castiel shrugs. “Daytime television, probably. I watch a lot of that when I’m bored. Mainly Jenny Jones.”

The fry Dean was about to pop into his mouth stops halfway there. “Why the _hell_ would you watch daytime TV? You don’t do that to yourself unless you’ve completely given up on life or you’re at the very least bored out of your fucking mind.”

“It’s the second one,” Castiel says, his hand inching back toward the last few bites of Dean’s burger. Dean raises an eyebrow at him, but lets the brazen food theft happen. He seriously hopes that whatever job Castiel has in Heaven doesn’t involve strategy or stealth. Because he apparently sucks at those.

“You did say you were bored when my idiot suite mates tried to summon you.”

Castiel nods, chewing on his stolen bite. “My boss doesn’t like me very much. So most of the time, she gives me nothing to do. Or, when she does, it’s the most boring assignment she can think of.”

“Such as?”

“One time, she had me walk through an entire rainforest to count every tree and write a report about how many there were of each kind.”

“Huh. Why?”

Castiel rests his head on one hand, staring out the window at the tree line with a world-weary sigh. “I don’t know, to be honest. She just gives me assignments and tells me to complete a report about them. I’m never told why any of these things are useful to anyone. In fact, I suspect they aren’t.”

Dean chuckles. “So what you’re saying is that Heaven is basically Office Space?”

The squint-tilt is back in full force. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Dude.” Dean pivots on the bench to let Castiel see exactly how appalled he is. “You’ve been bored enough to torture yourself with Jenny Jones, but you’ve never seen Office Space?”

“That’s bad?” Castiel asks, escalating the squint-tilt.

“Yes, it’s bad. Alright.” With a determined slap to Castiel’s shoulder, Dean gets up, grabbing his tray and turning to go. “We’re watching it tonight. Maybe we’ll even do a double feature. Office Space and… hey Cas, have you seen-”

Dean feels something like a crackle of lightning lift the hair on the back of his neck and looks over his shoulder.

The space Castiel occupied mere seconds ago is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did Cas go, and why? 
> 
> I'll see you back here on Wednesday for the answer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas comes back, and Dean inserts his foot all the way into his mouth. Garth is wise beyond his years.

Castiel doesn’t come back until the late evening.

Dean’s sitting at his desk, once again trying to study to the tune of giggles and the smell of weed, when he feels the telltale crackle of lightning behind him.

He’s been trying to tell himself all day that he’s not even slightly concerned or annoyed about Castiel’s disappearing act. There was probably some kind of important angel mission he needed to get on with. Or a boring one. Whatever.

Which is why he’ll deny to his dying day that he’s kind of relieved to see that ridiculous, boxy coat and the scruffy, grumpy angel wearing it.

“And where’d _you_ fly off to?” Dean asks, aiming for casual indifference, but landing somewhere in the neighborhood of “nagging spouse” instead.

“My apologies, Dean,” Castiel says, striding forward and giving Dean another one of those ridiculous cheek kisses that make him blush like a 13-year-old girl. “I was summoned by my direct superior. It’s not wise to ignore her summons.”

“What happens if you do?” Dean asks, any annoyance he might have been feeling already receding into the far distance.

“Most likely, my wings would be cut off.”

“Holy crap, Cas!” Dean sails right past the whole “Cas has wings?” part of the conversation because, yeah, he probably should’ve figured that was somehow a thing. “That seems harsh.”

Castiel shrugs. “As I said, my boss doesn’t like me. It’s usually better not to give her an excuse to maim me.”

Dean motions vaguely for Castiel to take a seat on his bed. When the angel’s planted himself there, Dean asks, “So, um. You said you were summoned? Did you get a new assignment?”

 _Are you going to leave?_ is the question that’s trying to claw its way up his throat. But damn it, Dean Winchester is not going to be clingy; especially not with someone he’s known for less than 24 hours.

“No.” Castiel picks at a loose thread on his coat. “I seem to be in trouble.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” Dean tries to ignore the fierce surge of protectiveness welling up inside him. Castiel is an ancient celestial being. Presumably, if he’s in trouble, he’s fully equipped to deal with it, and there’s no need for Dean to get involved in this madness any more than he already has. 

“It’s about you,” Castiel says, looking up.

Oh.

“Me?” Dean croaks out.

Castiel nods, glacier-blue eyes fixed on Dean’s. “Angels are permitted to have sex with humans. It’s not exactly encouraged, but it’s not punished either. What we’re not permitted to do…” Castiel shifts uncomfortably, returning his attention to his coat. “… is have romantic relationships.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“But wait a minute,” Dean says, frowning, because something’s not adding up here. “Did you know that wasn’t allowed?”

Castiel aims a tiny nod at his feet, and Dean could swear he’s the one blushing this time.

“So if you knew that, why-?”

Dean waves his hand vaguely, hoping Castiel understands the rest of that sentence without Dean needing to spell it out. _Why did you want to be my boyfriend? Why did you want to know things about me? Why did you keep kissing me in that shy, fond way that I kind of liked even though I didn’t say anything about it?_

Castiel shrugs, eyes darting nervously around the room. “I guess, after all this time, millennia of following Heaven’s orders without question, I was feeling a little rebellious.” Very quietly, he adds, “Also, I like you.”

Dean kind of wants to say that he likes Castiel too, because even though he still doesn’t know how to feel about the whole idea of being in a relationship with an ancient celestial wavelength… well, that part’s not in question.

Instead, what he says is, “So what kind of trouble are you in?”

“My boss gave me an ultimatum,” Castiel answers, studying Dean’s face.

Dean swallows heavily. Ultimatums are never good, and he has a sneaking suspicion he'll dislike this one in particular. Still, he motions for Castiel to keep talking.

“She says I have two choices. If I agree never to see you again, I can retain my place among the Host.”

“And if you don’t? Agree to that, I mean?” Dean croaks.

Castiel hunches forward, arms resting on his thighs and eyes fixated on a point far beyond Dean’s tiny shoebox of a room. “If I choose to keep pursuing our relationship, I’ll be exiled from Heaven. I’ll have to live out the rest of eternity here on earth.”

As much as Dean likes having Castiel around, there’s one thing he’s absolutely sure of: you don’t give up your entire way of life for someone you’ve known for less than two days.

“No. Absolutely not, Cas. You are not doing that. You’re going back to Heaven and… I don’t know, apologize or something. Whatever it takes.”

Castiel turns to look at him, something unfathomable in his eyes. “You want me to leave?”

“No, that’s not…” Dean rubs at his temple. He’s never been good with words, so he shouldn’t be surprised that this is quickly turning into a giant clusterfuck. “That’s not what I’m saying. But I’m not letting you give up your, your home for something that’s not even a real relationship, OK? I mean, we’ve only just met, and-”

Dean breaks off when he catches sight of the expression on Castiel’s face. His lips are moving silently to mouth something that looks suspiciously like “not a real relationship.”

“Cas, what I’m trying to say is…”

But before Dean can work out what it is that, in fact, he’s trying to say, there’s a crackle of lightning and Castiel is gone.

***

An hour later, Dean’s sitting on the couch in the common room, holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey and watching Office Space.

He hasn’t taken in a single thing that’s happening on screen, of course, because all he can see is the way Castiel looked at him, right before he disappeared. Like he’d trusted Dean to have his back, and Dean had proven him wrong.

He doesn’t even notice he’s not alone anymore until a warm weight plops onto the couch next to him.

“Whatcha watching?” Garth asks.

“Office Space,” Dean mumbles around the neck of his bottle.

Garth hums. “Thought I recognized it. You seem awfully gloomy though for someone watching one of the funniest movies ever made.”

They sit in silence for a minute. Then, Garth says, “Saw you around campus today, with your boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend.” Dean takes another swig, scowling at the resulting burn.

Garth frowns at him. “He said he was.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean folds his legs up in front of him and hunches his back, making himself as small as possible. “If he was, he isn’t anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Garth says, and he actually sounds it. “Does it have anything to do with his being an angel? That can’t be easy, especially for a new relationship.”

Dean almost drops the bottle. “What? How the hell do you know about that?”

“I recognized his name from the summoning spell. Looked it up later in some of my parents’ books to make sure you weren’t bumping uglies with a demon.”

In spite of himself, Dean snorts. “Thanks for that.”

“It’s what friends do, Dean,” Garth says solemnly. “We look out for each other.”

Dean nods, feeling a surge of affection for Garth that he can’t attribute entirely to the whiskey buzz.

“So.” Garth nudges Dean’s shoulder. “Let’s hear it. What happened with you two?”

To Dean’s own surprise, the whole, weird story comes spilling out of him, starting with Castiel’s strange arrival and finishing up with the ultimatum.

“Let me ask you something, Dean,” Garth says, holding Dean’s eyes. “At any point after Castiel told you about his trouble, did you ask him what _he_ wanted to do?”

It’s a good question. Dean thinks about it as carefully as his slightly foggy brain will allow. All things considered, he doesn’t think he ever did ask.

“Fuck. I might have screwed up.”

“Yes, you did,” Garth agrees cheerfully. “But that’s just part of the human condition, my friend. The question is, what are you gonna do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we all knew Dean was going to find a way to screw this up eventually, right? So what will it take to make this right? And what will Cas decide to do about the ultimatum?
> 
> Final chapter, with ALL the answers, coming on Sunday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an angel to appease, and Castiel has a decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... and this is it! If you've made it this far, thanks for sticking with me through my first WIP. Told you you could trust me to finish this ;) . 
> 
> Alright, on with Chapter 5!

The next morning, after a glass of water and a dose of Advil, Dean decides to pray.

He hasn’t actually done that in years, not since his mom died. She was the praying type; his dad, not so much.

Anyway, his mom used to insist that if you prayed to a specific angel, they could hear you and maybe, if you got lucky, they’d even answer you.

The first thing Dean tries to figure out is what the hell kind of position you’re supposed to be in when you pray. He used to kneel next to his bed when he was a kid, but that doesn’t seem right somehow.

Eventually, he settles for sitting on his mattress, eyes closed and hands clasped.

The next part is even trickier. What is he supposed to say?

“Dear Castiel, who art in Heaven… probably?”

Well, that just seems weird.

“Um, hi, Cas.”

There. Better.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m hoping you can.” Wait, does he need to announce himself or something? Better safe than sorry. “This is Dean, by the way.”

Dean opens one of his eyes to peek at the room, really hoping Castiel has somehow already materialized and he can stop this farce. No such luck.

“Anyway, look, I’m really sorry. Our last conversation… I didn’t exactly handle it well. I’m hoping we can try again? Please?”

This time, Dean opens both eyes. Still nothing.

Going for broke, Dean closes his eyes again. “Look, I was being a dick and-”

“You really were.”

Dean feels the telltale crackle of lightning that announces Castiel’s arrival, and there he is, slouching against Dean’s dresser, looking more disheveled and grumpy than ever.

“Hey. You heard me.”

“Yes,” Castiel growls, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I heard your incoherent ramblings.”

“So, um. Did you go back to Heaven?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Dean squirms uncomfortably, trying to figure out how to navigate the minefield this conversation is turning out to be. Again. “That’s a no?”

“That’s a no.”

Dean nods slowly, trying to get the words to fall into line. “I realized something.”

Castiel cocks a brow at him in a mute encouragement to continue.

“I spent our whole conversation last night telling you what I thought was the right thing to do. But, I, um.” He stops, scratching at the back of his neck. “I never exactly got around to asking what _you_ thought you should do.”

Castiel still has his arms crossed; he hasn’t moved an inch away from the dresser, which puts him about as far away from Dean as it’s possible to be in a room that’s barely 10 feet long.

“So… I guess what I wanted to say is that I’m asking you now.” Dean forces himself to meet Castiel’s glare. Those blue eyes give nothing away, and Dean quietly reassesses his earlier judgment about the angel’s capacity for stealth and strategy.

“What do you want to do, Cas?”

Castiel huffs, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “Do you know what Jenny Jones says about relationships, Dean?”

Firmly clamping down on any and all daytime TV jokes, Dean asks, “What, Cas?”

“She says,” Castiel answers with supreme dignity, “that a good relationship isn’t possible without good communication. Which is why,” he adds, squinting for emphasis, “I am here. To give you a chance to communicate.”

“I appreciate that, Cas,” Dean says, trying for a smile. “Guess daytime TV isn’t as bad as I was making it out to be, huh?”

“Don’t change the subject, Dean.” Castiel escalates his glare another notch. “It’s a deflection strategy. The exact opposite of good communication.”

Dean nods. “OK. I’ll get to the point then.” He looks back at Castiel, who is still at the other end of the room, unmoving. “Um, look, this would be a lot easier if you were closer. Could you just…?” Dean pats the space next to him on the bed.

With a dramatic huff, like this is the most effort he’s had to expend on anything in his millennia of existence, Castiel pushes himself off the dresser and comes to sit next to Dean. Dean grabs hold of one of Castiel’s hands and links their fingers, feeling emboldened when the angel doesn’t pull away.

“Cas, you've probably figured out by now that I’m not real good with words. Never was.” Castiel is staring off into the far distance again, and Dean ducks his head, trying to catch his eye. Eventually, it works. “But here’s the thing. I’ve known you for all of two days, but I’m having a hard time trying to remember what life was like when I didn’t have a grumpy, sexy angel perching on my shoulder.”

“I’ve never perched on your…” Castiel starts to say, but Dean silences him with a small shake of his head.

“I know, Cas. Just an expression. Anyway.” Dean runs a finger over Castiel’s knuckles, enjoying the soft, staticky tingling that runs through him any time they touch. “I don’t think I’ve felt this comfortable around anyone in… actually, maybe ever. You’re fun to talk to, you’re easy on the eyes and you’re really good at sex even though you’ve done it a grand total of once.”

Dean is pleased to see that Castiel actually preens a little, and he throws a flirty grin into the mix, which Castiel returns with the faintest hint of a blush.

“But the most important part is this, Cas. I still mean what I said. It seems like an awful idea to give up your home and everything you’ve ever known for someone you’ve only just met.”

Taking in Castiel’s increasingly mutinous expression, Dean holds up a placating hand. “But. After you left, I started to think. And the idea that you’d be stuck doing boring reports for a boss who hates you for the rest of… well, the rest of ever, and I’d never get to see you again… I didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t like it either,” Castiel says quietly, looking down at their clasped hands. “Which is why I wanted to stay.”

“Oh.” Which isn’t the most eloquent thing to say in response to something so monumental, to be honest, so Dean tries again. “Look, Cas. Like I said, we haven’t known each other long. So I can’t promise you that this is happily ever after or anything like that. But I want to give this a try. I want to see if the good stuff that’s already there is something we can build on.”

Dean brings his knuckle to Castiel’s jaw, gently raising the angel’s head so they’re looking at each other, their faces inches apart. “OK?”

Castiel looks back at him. Finally, he says, “OK.”

Dean leans forward to plant a small kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “Good.”

“You know,” Castiel says as Dean pulls back, “After I left, I decided to do some research.”

“Research? What kind of research?”

Castiel smiles, and there’s something so devious about it that Dean thinks even though angels and demons are clearly different things, they’ve got to be related somehow.

“While I waited for you to come to your senses, I read more than 5,000 books about various sexual techniques and positions.”

Dean surges forward to kiss Castiel, because how could he not after a statement like that? He also doesn’t think he can be blamed for being half-hard in his pants already.

The kiss turns hot and demanding when Castiel returns it, but Dean pulls back for just a second to grin and say, “Pretty confident things were gonna work out between us, weren’t you?”

Castiel shrugs, sucking at Dean’s earlobe. “I’m reliably informed that I’m ‘easy on the eyes.’”

Watching someone do air quotes with both hands while they’re trailing kisses down the side of your neck is now apparently one of Dean’s kinks, because it takes an amazingly short time after that for both their clothes to come off. Dean could swear Castiel has been practicing opening his buttons by himself too, but this doesn’t seem like the time to bring it up.

Dean ends up flat on his back, Castiel framing him with his thighs and looking down at Dean’s dick like he’s trying to come to some kind of decision.

“So many things to do,” he murmurs, putting his trademark squint-tilt to its most attractive use yet. “But I think we’ll start with…”

Without even finishing that sentence, he bends down, taking Dean all the way to the back of his neck. Dean grabs hold of the sheets, holding on for dear life as Castiel hollows his cheeks and sets up a slow, languid pace.

Everything gets a little fuzzy around the edges after that, but eventually, they’re lying next to each other, Dean feeling sticky and exhausted, but cradled comfortably against Castiel’s chest.

“So,” he says, running an idle finger up and down the angel's side. “If this is gonna be a thing now, what do I tell people? I mean, my friends? My brother? Not sure ‘I’m dating an angel’ is the kind of statement most people know what to do with.”

Castiel shrugs, planting a kiss on Dean’s forehead. “If it doesn’t go well the first time, I’ll wipe their memories and you can try again.”

Dean snorts. “Adding that one to my list of unexpected perks of dating a celestial wavelength.”

“Is it a long list?”

“It’s getting longer by the minute.” Dean grins up at Castiel, waggling his eyebrows. “I just thought of another one. Getting to explain the concept of ‘that’s what she said’ jokes to you.”

Dean enjoys the squint-tilt that statement gets him for a moment, then says, “Seriously though, Cas. You’ve been alive for longer than I can even wrap my head around. You don’t think you’ll… I don’t know, get bored, being down here, with us humans?” Dean almost doesn’t say it, but, in the spirit of Jenny Jones, he adds, “With me?”

Castiel looks like he’s seriously considering the question. Finally, he says, “Are you going to make me count trees in a rainforest?”

Dean chuckles, burying his face in Castiel’s shoulder. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“In that case,” Castiel says, tightening his arm around Dean and sending a pleasant, staticky tingle down his spine, “I think we’ll be just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I love your kudos and especially your comments! I read and respond to every single one, and they always make my day. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com).


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